A wicked wind rages at your window
while you sit in the dim staring
with your zombie eyes fixed on
faces and names taped to the wall.
Coffee stains your teeth,
but ***** stains your soul.
The infections in your ears
make it hard for you to hear, but it’s not
like anyone was going to try to talk to you.
Your chapped lips long for a kiss
from the boy whose name you
doodled with a pen over and over
until the letters stopped making sense.
Pile trash on your bed so the
sheets won’t touch your skin,
and the whispers won’t keep you
awake all night unless you let them.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
I stay hidden behind my Winter coat
all Summer long.
I'll shed away my skin
in the Fall.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
He walked across the bridge,
A timid, slow walk.
I nearly hit him,
and cursed at him for being in my way.
He stopped at the railing for a breathe.
I looked in the rear view mirror,
but he was gone.
I'd like to think I could've stopped him.
I'd like to think
he was never really there.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
On the night of our wedding
I swim to my bride, the moon.
Diverged in her wild waves, I
struggle to even meet her stars.
A ceremony at twilight
where I will meet my bride,
and tip-toe on the horizon
to kiss her glowing lips.
And whisper ‘til death’.
But all too soon,
saltwater envelops it's lungs.
A body is washed to shore,
and the sun mourns warmth
on the cold lips
that ever longed
to kiss and whisper
at the moon.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 7:23 PM UTC
Fire in my throat
fire in my stomach
imbalance in my brain
blur in my vision
fast forward
in his bed
hands in pants
lips on lips
fast forward
in my head
broken down
bit by bit
fast forward
in my bed
tongue touch
hips to hips
fast forward
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
We were sitting on the swings
when you looked at me
and you whispered my name to yourself.
When you sat beside me
I could hear your heartbeat
and you told me the beating was a song.
I listened conventionally
to the drumming in your chest.
You pressed your lips on mine,
but we were too young
to know how to move our mouths.
So, we sat there
with our lips
pushed against our faces.
You fell and scratched your knees,
and you blamed it on me.
I ran cause I was much too weak.
But, I can still hear the sound
of the beating song
when I let other boys push their lips against mine.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC